


Her Name Was Grace

by Wind_Ryder



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Devotion, Fatherly Love, Insanity, Mental Illness, Parental Love, Self-Harm, Suicide, Sweet Fifteen Writing Challenge, Violence, maddness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:36:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2408717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jefferson’s life has always been devoted to his daughter Grace, and he worked as hard as he could to make sure that she was happy, safe, and content. Sometimes it worked for the best, but other times, it only became worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Name Was Grace

**Author's Note:**

> This work is unbeta'd and was originally planned as an exercise for a writing challenge I made up called the "Sweet Fifteen." 
> 
> The first section starts with one paragraph, the second: two paragraphs, the third: three paragraphs, and so on up to 15 paragraphs. Then it starts to count down again. Each section needs to be able to stand alone by itself, but they all have to be connected in some way.

Her name was Grace, and he loved her. She was tiny, almost pocket sized, and very quiet. She didn’t cry, didn’t fuss, and didn’t really do much else except stare at him with big blue eyes and an expression tinged with awe. “Hello, Grace,” he told her every morning. “My name’s Jefferson, and I’m your Papa.” For the first four months of her life, Grace didn’t react to the introduction. But on the first day of her fifth month, she smiled at him, and he wept with joy. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and her mother was not dead. Everyone thought she was, but she wasn’t. Jefferson never stopped correcting the assumptions, but it never had any effect. “She’s not dead, she’s lost,” he told anyone who would listen. The neighbors all pitied him, and called him a grieving widower. “She wasn’t my wife,” he added softly. They ignored that as well. Grace clung to his leg and smiled at him, and asked him for a story about her mother. He told her everything he could, but he never told her she was dead. 

 

“I know that, Papa,” Grace said brightly. “She’s just lost.” Jefferson never knew whether to laugh or cry when she said things like that, and so he settled for neither. He just held her close, and tried not to think about how much he missed her mother. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and she could find anything. They played hide and seek together in the forest, and no matter how far Jefferson went, Grace always managed to track him down. He teased her about it more often than not, but couldn’t hide the pride for her that he felt. The older she grew, the more beautiful she became, the cleverer she became. She was the best of him, and was better than him. 

 

“There’s a string around your finger,” Grace said one night. She reached out and held his hand, flawless skin slid over his scarred knuckles. He shivered as he watched her. “It goes on and on, and I can follow it right to you. Everyone’s got one, but yours is like mine.” She held up her palm, but he didn’t see a string, a connection, or any other form of link between them. He told her as much, and she looked troubled. “How will you find your way back to me if you can’t see it?” she asked him uncertainly. “What if you become lost?” 

 

“I’ll always find you,” he swore. “I’ll never leave you behind.” Grace grinned happily at that and invited him to a tea party. They sat on the ground surrounded by misshapen toys and empty pots. They pretended to drink from tiny saucers, and Grace held onto his hand and rubbed against a string he couldn’t see or feel. He held hers back, and wished more than anything he could find what was lost as well. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and her mother was flawless. Jefferson told his daughter stories of her mother whenever he could. She loved listening to them, and she never forgot the magical woman that had given birth to her. They had been a family for all of ten minutes, and then everything had fallen apart. Jefferson refused to let her fade out of recognition, and Grace held her in her heart. 

 

Grace’s mother was named Irene, and she was from another world. She was a Princess, and Grace liked the sound of that. She asked Jefferson if that meant she was a Princess as well, and Jefferson always told her she was  _his_ little Princess. She snuggled up onto his shoulder and he continued his stories, always sure to portray the most stunning image of her mother. 

 

Irene was fearless and fought bravely, even against goblins. The goblins in the stories always made Grace shiver and cry. “What’s the matter, my dear Grace?” Jefferson asked her, and she asked if the reason her mother was gone was because of the goblins. “No, no, she’s lost because of foolish pride.” He never lied to his daughter, and she was smarter than the average child. 

 

“It’s okay, Papa,” she told him. “Mama and I forgive you.” He never answered that. He just quietly told her it’s time for bed and she knew not to push. She climbed into bed and pulled the blankets to her chin. She watched him stand at the window for a few minutes, watching the night sky. Eventually he stepped out of the house and into the forest, and he rubbed his fingers the whole time. He wondered if Grace looked at the string when he was gone, and if she’d follow him out. She never did. She didn’t inherit his impulsivity, or her mother’s impetuous nature. She was better than that, and it tore his heart in two. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and she had was sick. Jefferson held his daughter in his arms and he tried desperately to get her to drink the potion he’d been given. He’d been assured it would heal her ailments, and it had cost him the clothes on his back in order to afford it. He’d paid it willingly, and stumbled naked through the woods until he could return to her side. His feet were torn and his back was bloodied from where he had been beaten by the boys in town for revealing himself so rudely. He hadn’t cared. He clung to the potion in his palm and he refused to think twice about it. 

 

Grace was tiny and frail. She was still a baby yet. The neighbors had looked out for her while he’d gone to barter, and they were startled when he fell in through the door. They didn’t care about his appearance, though Mr. Haversham quickly wrapped him in a blanket while his wife averted her eyes. “You’ll make  _yourself_ sick if you keep this up,” Mr. Haversham told him succinctly. 

 

“Grace, my Grace, please…” Jefferson knelt at Grace’s bedside and pulled her to his chest. She was coughing weakly and her skin was flushed. He tried to get her to drink, but she couldn’t will her throat to do so. He cried as he pressed his face to her downy hair. He was a terrible father if he couldn’t even manage one illness.

 

Mrs. Haversham pressed a hand to his arm and crouched beside him. She gently showed him how to pour the potion down Grace’s throat, and they did so together. Grace coughed wetly around it, but she did swallow it eventually. She twisted her tiny face into his chest and he trembled under the weight of her presence. 

 

They sat there together, watching over Grace as her lungs started to breathe easier and her fever finally broke. Jefferson ran a hand through her hair and rubbed her back, and he rocked her endlessly. He spoke to her softly about all the wonderful things they’d do once she got better, and his neighbors quietly agreed to help him in any way they could. When she finally woke up, there were tears still in his eyes, and she smiled at him with all the love only a child could have. He swore one day he’d deserve that devotion, and he held her close all through the night. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and she was pure of heart. There were days when they didn’t have anything. Winter was the harshest time of year. They’d sit huddled together by the fire, and Jefferson would hold her close while he wrapped her tight in blankets. Despite not having enough to feed themselves, if Grace saw anyone she deemed to be in greater need: she gave away what little she had. 

 

Jefferson refused to let his daughter starve, but he was dedicated to her happiness. She would not eat if they did not provide charity to others. He foraged for hours, he hunted through most of the day, and he provided for them as best he could. Some days they were fortunate enough to have half a bowl of soup between them, and then others - she would give her half away and he would quietly give her his own to eat. 

 

“But Papa, it’s yours.” She always tried to give it back, and he never let her. He reminded her that he was her father, and that he would not eat a single thing so long as her belly was empty. Grudgingly she ate her food, and as the fierce winter winds blew harder, she slowly became more subtle with her charity. 

 

Jefferson had thought he’d done very well for himself one evening when he managed to fell a deer. It would feed them for at least another four weeks if they were very careful. He brought it back to her, and they prepared it together. He taught her how to butcher it, and through it all he encouraged her to thank the animal for giving its life to feed them. “We waste nothing,” he promised her. “The pelt will keep us warm. The bones we’ll use as tools. The sinew as thread.  _Nothing_  will go to waste. It died so that we may live.” 

 

“Felix and Milo don’t have any food tonight, Papa,” Grace told him, looking at him with hopeful eyes. He asked her who else didn’t have food, half convinced she’d created a ledger at some point. She told him the names, and he looked down at the deer. It would hardly last the week. His hands trembled as he thought of the rest of winter, drawn out and filled with the pain of starvation. 

 

“Go get them, it died so we may all live,” he whispered. She thanked him and ran off to gather their neighbors. Jefferson leaned his hands on the table and he squeezed his eyes shut. He thought about Grace’s happiness and her endless love. His stomach rumbled painfully within him, and he quietly began to prepare their meals. She was filled with all the goodness that he had abandoned for so long. She was his penance, and he would do as she asked. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and he couldn’t lose her. He shouted, he shouted until she started to cry, and then he collapsed to his knees before her and cried with her. He pulled her to his chest and they cried together, and he apologized endlessly while she did the same in his ear. She’d been curious about the box in the chest and she’d almost touched the hat that lay within. 

 

“You can’t touch that, you can’t. Promise me Gracie,  _promise me!_ ” he begged her, as a servant to his Princess, and she agreed. She apologized over and over and he couldn’t help the fact that he was shaking violently as they clung to one another. 

 

“What is it? What is in the box?” she asked him. 

 

“My hat.  _The_ hat.” He’d told her all the stories. She knew each one by heart. He hadn’t shied away from any truth, not even the one where he committed the greatest sin of all and abandoned Irene in a world by herself. The hat didn’t have a master. It had only a driver, someone who could use its powers and harness it at will. Grace was his blood, his kin, and he didn’t dare want to tempt fate with offering that hat another conductor. She would be able to use it, just like he could. He knew that, and it frightened him. 

 

Grace was quiet for a long while, and then asked a question that he knew she’d ask one day. “Can we use it to find Mama?” His heart broke in his chest. His lungs compressed. His tears fell harder as he held her closer. 

 

“No, no we can’t.”

 

“But  _why_?” she asked him. She already knew the answer, he’d told it to her time and again. He told it to her now, too. He’d already tried to find Irene. He’d returned to where he’d left her. He’d gone to every world he’d ever been, and countless ones he hadn’t been to, and she wasn’t there. No one knew her name; no one knew her face. There was no one left to find, he’d lost the only woman he’d ever loved because of that hat. He couldn’t lose his daughter too. He begged her not to touch it again, and she nodded solemnly in return. “I promise, Papa.” It would have to be enough. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and her parents were friends as children. She wanted to know if she had grandparents, and Jefferson told her the truth. She had a grandfather who was alive, somewhere, probably. He hadn’t heard otherwise. The man was cruel and hateful, and Jefferson would never introduce them. “But Papa, why?” she asked him, and he told her the story of the hat. 

 

“My father was a portal jumper. He went from world to world using his hat. He’d come back every night and he’d bring all the pain with him. He didn’t use it for games or fun, he didn’t use it to move items from world to world. He used it to cause harm. He’d damage something there, and then leave that world in shambles before returning home to us.”

 

“He sounds like a bad man,” Grace whispered. She was afraid, and Jefferson hated making her scared. He wouldn’t lie to her about this, though. She had to know the truth or else she’d look for a man who would do nothing but harm her. 

 

“He was, he was wicked and cruel, and he wanted me to be wicked and cruel too.” Grace gasped at that, and he pressed on. “He’d take me with him, and I’d watch the pain he wrought.” 

 

“You didn’t stop him?” 

 

“I was younger than you, my dear Grace. I was to scared to try.” He moved his hand through her hair and took a deep breath. “The last place he took me was to your mother’s world. He made a deal with the goblins, and wanted to help them take over her kingdom. She’d already battled them once before, and succeeded. They wanted revenge. I slipped away from him and met Irene. I told him my father’s plan and we tried to stop him. We couldn’t do it, though. We failed. My father wanted to kill her, as an example of what would happen if I disobeyed again.” 

 

“What did you do?” Grace asked. She knew that things turned out all right, after all - she had been born. Yet she was sitting at the edge of her seat looking fascinated as he told this tale. 

 

“I knocked the hat off his head, and I took her hand. We jumped in together, and we left him behind. I brought her to this world…and we made a home and a life together here. We never went back for him.” He took a deep breath and continued, “I’m sorry, Grace. I will not take you to him.” She didn’t press him for more. She just nodded her head and went to collect her basket. It was time to find mushrooms for the market. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and she wore clothes that her father made just for her. Jefferson had never claimed to be a hunter. When he’d first decided to raise Grace where he did, he hadn’t even considered hunting. It was necessity that taught him how to handle a bow, and he quickly became proficient at using it day in and day out. He made food from his kills, and he made clothing from the pelts. He traded pelts for cotton, and he used a spinning wheel to make thread. 

 

Grace liked to twirl around the house in her new skirts, laughing and grinning proudly at the patterns and swirls. They couldn’t afford the rich fabric that she deserved, and he had to fight tooth and nail for what they could get. Still, he did the very best he could, and she loved each and every outfit with an absurd level of devotion. 

 

When Jefferson had first moved to the woods, he’d had a dark black cloak, fine garments, and enough gold to last a lifetime. He lost all of it within the first two years. There’d been a fire, then a robbery, then another robbery, and then the winter. There’d been sickness, injury, and a growing child who deserved the world handed to her on a silver platter. Times had changed, and he’d learned to adapt. 

 

Grace liked her dresses  _just so_ , and when she was old enough, she helped him cut the thread and measure the fabric. He learned how to weave and started to put together what he could. He sold anything extra in the market with his mushrooms, and then spent that money on more fabric for his daughter. She smiled at him and called him the best, and he grinned at her and told her she was his world. They made it work. 

 

“Why don’t you make something nice for yourself?” Grace asked him once. His shirt was fraying at the seams, had been for weeks now. He’d made her a new dress and a new cloak. He wanted to fashion her some sort of jewelry, but he wasn’t a smith and had no idea how to make metal glimmer and shine. He knew people who could help, but he wasn’t willing to pull on that thread. 

 

“I don’t need anything nice, Grace,” he told her. The shirt was judiciously cleaned so often that any color had been turned into a faded smudge. The patches look tattered, and he knew there was little point in making a nice pressed shirt that would just be torn apart within a few days. 

 

“Please, Papa? Won’t you make yourself a nice coat? You’ll look dashing at my tea party,” Grace smiled up at him, and Jefferson bit his lip. He nodded his head to her, and set about planning his outfit. It took far too long to make, and he knew that Grace was disappointed by his lack of progress, but eventually he had a lovely suede coat that was truly very warm and leather breeches that didn’t shred in the brush. 

 

He wouldn’t be able to make himself anything for a long while yet, and they had lost all of their funds in order to see him so appropriately dressed, but Grace smiled and clapped as he modeled the outfit. “You’re so handsome, Papa!” she cried, and he flushed at her words. The last person to call him handsome had been her mother, and he had worn garments so fine that he looked like a Prince. Here in Grace’s home, his poor workmanship was praised and his efforts were commended. His daughter thought he was handsome, and it helped to chase away the lonely thoughts of self-hatred that had clawed so treacherously into his heart. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and she looked just like her mother. Her favorite story was when Jefferson and Irene first travelled to a different land together on purpose. They walked through a field of flowers and Jefferson picked them by the handful and fashioned them into a crown. He presented it to her on one knee, and Irene had laughed at it and called him sweet. When he did that for Grace when she was seven years old, she’d squealed happily as he placed the flower crown upon her head. 

 

“My little Princess,” he called her. He bowed low at the waist, and she giggled too much in response. 

 

“My liege,” she replied. Her courtesy was awkward and she nearly toppled over with her legs crossed, but he steadied her and taught her how to dip low. “Do I look like her?” she asked, gingerly touching the crown. She was so hopeful, and Jefferson tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

 

“So much,” he told her. Irene was tall and fair with hair like sunshine. She was brave and loyal, and she had a great heart. Grace was still tiny, but her body and mind were so much like her mother’s it was hard to not see Irene within her. 

 

“Do you miss her?” Grace asked quietly, smile falling away as she stared up into Jefferson’s blue eyes. 

 

“So much,” he replied. He missed Irene’s temper, her intelligence, and her wit. He missed being outsmarted by her, and being teased by her. He missed running through the forest and playing games of pretend. He missed being a child again, with his best friend at his side. Grace had stopped asking if they’d ever go back for Irene, and it had made some thing better and some things worse. “Some day I hope that you’ll be able to meet her yourself,” he told her softly. 

 

“Will she like me?” Grace asked him.

 

“Of course she will, what’s not to like?” Jefferson had no doubts Irene would have loved their daughter. She had loved her when she’d first given birth, and her final act of devotion had been to send them to safety while she remained behind. They had escaped through the hat, and Jefferson had never seen her again. She’d saved their lives, and he’d devoted his to ensuring the last gift she’d made would not be tarnished. He only doubted that she’d ever have the chance to show her love.

 

Grace plucked a flower from her crown and slid it through Jefferson’s hair. It tingled against his skin, and he waited patiently as she braided it into place. They stayed together, father and daughter, and silently thought about the past and the future. “I love you, Papa,” Grace told him, and he returned it in kind. He’d only loved two people in this world, and they both looked the same. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and she was crying. “It’s my fault, isn’t it?” Grace asked her father. Jefferson was curled in on himself, a willing supplicant to his daughter, incapable of saying anything or fighting her in any way. “It’s all my fault. Mama’s gone and I’m the reason.” She pressed her tiny hands to her eyes and she sobbed loudly. Her pretty dress had stains around the hem, and Jefferson half wondered where she’d been when she’d worked it out. He never lied to her, but he never could intentionally harm her either. 

 

“It’s not your fault,” he told her softly. “The hat-”

 

“You would have taken her if it wasn’t for  _me!”_ Grace cried. Jefferson closed his eyes and remembered what it was like to press his lips against Irene’s. He remembered what it was like to know that he was finally at peace. He remembered what it was like to press in close, and make love for the first time. He remembered, too, the sinking feeling when they tried to return through the hat and found that they couldn’t. 

 

“The same amount of people who go through have to come back,” Irene had whispered, one hand holding onto her stomach while the other clutched at his palm. They had stared at each other in shock, and then elation. They’d held onto each other tightly. They’d laughed and they’d cried, and they’d decided they didn’t need to go back to the Enchanted Forest. They could stay right where they were and make a new life. A life without portal jumping and running away from demons in the dark. A normal life, with a normal family. 

 

They had done everything they could to make it work. They’d built a house, they’d found a source of income, and they’d been so wonderfully happy. Jefferson had even made a crib for Grace in their new cottage, and they had been entirely impatient as they waited for her to be born. Just when everything seemed like it was going to go well, that they were finally going to get the peace they deserved, the ruler of their new home set fire to the ground and condemned her people to death. 

 

The locals had enough room to harbor one person from harm. Irene pressed their newborn daughter to Jefferson’s chest and begged him to take her home, free of tyranny and fear. “She’ll never be safe here. I won’t leave her here, and you’re the only one who can use the hat. You  _must_ take her!” He’d tried to argue, but Irene had insisted. “I’ll be fine, my love, but our  _daughter_  needs you more than me. Keep her safe. Don’t ever leave her. You promise me, Jefferson. You promise me you’ll always be there for her.” 

 

“No…no…you don’t abandon family,” Jefferson had tried to tell her. She’d smiled sadly and nodded. 

 

“You’re right, you don’t.” She ran away from them, leaping over flames and into the arms of their neighbors who quickly shielded her from harm. Jefferson couldn’t follow, not with Grace, not knowing there was no place to go back to. He dove through the battered door between worlds and was jerked up through the portal and back into the Enchanted Forest. He’d appeared, sobbing and heartbroken, at the Queen’s court. 

 

“It wasn’t your fault, Grace,” Jefferson told his daughter quietly. “I lost her because I wasn’t careful. I was swept up with my own power that I didn’t even think to consider the consequences. It was my fault, Grace. Not yours.”

 

“But if I’d never been born, she’d still be with you. Wouldn’t you be happier?” Jefferson flinched at the question and shook his head. He didn’t know how to answer. He couldn’t answer such a question. It was too great of a difference. He couldn’t imagine life without Grace, anymore than he could imagine finding Irene again and being with her at long last. He could only say he was happy enough now, and that he didn’t want anything to change. It was the first lie he’d ever told, and it broke his heart when he thought about it late at night. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and all she wanted was a rabbit. That’s the thought that nearly drove Jefferson mad. He was surrounded by hats, none of them working, and nothing he did could make them work. He sobbed desperately into the cloth in his hands and he tore at it with his fingers. She’d only wanted a rabbit, and that had been enough to sway ten years of determination to never portal jump again. 

 

He was trapped in Wonderland and Grace was home by herself, and all she’d wanted was a rabbit. Jefferson stabbed needles into fabric and hissed at himself to, “Get it to work.” He needed to go home to her, needed to be with her. He promised he would never leave her, he had promised Irene that he would never abandon her, and he’d done it anyway. 

 

Regina’s voice echoed in his ears as he tried spinning a hat he knew had no power.  _You don’t abandon family_. She’d told him, spitting out each syllable like he’d done something to personally offend her. He had tried to escape his past life, he had tried to escape everything that was apart of that world, and he’d done so for ten years. He’d had his Grace, and he’d lived simply, and he hadn’t wanted anything else. 

 

All Grace had wanted was a rabbit. He had sacrificed everything, walked away from her, left her alone,  _abandoned_  her for a rabbit. A rabbit that he had already made a replacement for out of spare materials around their house, a rabbit that was meaningless in the long run. She had asked him to be home for her party, and he had promised he would. He’d broken that promise just like he’d been unable to buy her that rabbit. 

 

“Get it to work,” he repeated. “Get it to work.” He pulled another roll of fabric towards him and he attacked it with his scissors. He almost didn’t feel the sting of the blade cutting the edge off his finger. It was only when the blood started to pool across the satin did he stare at it blankly. He was shaking, and he was tired, and he was so exhausted with it all. He pressed his hand against the satin and he wondered if the blood would do what lack of blood hadn’t. “Get it to work,” he whispered into the materials. 

 

He kept cutting and snipping, pinning and twisting fabric around until he was done. His hands were cut and torn. His fabric was soaking with blood and he was starting to feel faintly dizzy from the experience. He rubbed his throat uncertainly, and the moment his bloodied fingers touched the seam about his neck he choked. 

 

“I’m alive?” he asked himself. He coughed feebly, and then scratched at the seam. It had been stitched together by the Queen’s executioner, and he could feel it threading through his muscles and bones. He rubbed at it desperately and felt the stitch pull back and blood begin to fall. It mixed with the blood from his hands, and the fabric was stained an even darker red. 

 

“I’m alive, Grace, Grace, I’m alive. Gotta get it to work. Get it to work.  _Work. Work!_ ” he slammed his fingers back onto the hat, crushing its brim and impaling his hand on a needle. He stared at it for several long minutes and blinked rapidly. 

 

Distantly, he was aware of the door opening. “Jefferson?” someone asked him. He didn’t answer. He poked at the needle in his palm and wondered if he could use the invisible thread on his hand to stitch life back into his hat. Then he could find his way back to Grace. 

 

Then he could get her that rabbit. 

 

A door closed, and he laughed at the thought of finding that string. He never saw it before, and he certainly didn’t see it now, but he poked the needle through his finger and tried to draw it out. He needed to go home to her, and she’d never lose him so long as he had that string. “Get it to work,” he swore to himself. He just needed to get it to work. The thought of the rabbit didn’t drive him mad. He already was.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and he couldn’t remember what she looked like. Logic made no sense in Wonderland. He didn’t need to eat. He didn’t need to drink. He simply needed to exist. He lived in a world of hats and mercury. He stared at the walls around him and he spent hours building hat after hat. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get it to work. But there was a girl he had to go back to, and even though he couldn’t remember her face or her eyes, he knew he needed to find her again. 

 

He tried hats with feathers, hates with shades. He tried hats with brims, and hats with no brims. He tried tall hats, round hats, fat hats, brown hats. He tried big hats, small hats, hats with no glitter, and hats with no strings. He tried hats in one piece and hats in ten pieces. He tried everything he could think of, and nothing worked. 

 

When he wasn’t making hats, he was holding a hand to his throat and shaking at the memory of four words.  _Off with his head_. He was dead, but he was alive, and he didn’t understand it but he wanted to go home. He didn’t remember what home was, but he was sure it existed before this place. Everyone seemed to think that that’s where he wanted to go, and if that was away from here then that’s what he wanted. 

 

“Jefferson?” Someone spoke to him sometimes. She spoke hateful awful things, words that tore into him and pulled him apart. He didn’t like her, didn’t want to listen to her, but couldn’t help it either. He asked her once if she could get it to work, and she’d asked him why he bothered. He was just going to leave again. Leaving was what he did best. “Jefferson? Can you hear me? I’m going to get you out. Jefferson? Can you hear me? Do you know who I am?” 

 

He remembered a baby curled in his arms. He remembered a child laughing in the flowers. He remembered a promise to never become lost again. He stared at his fingers, but he didn’t see any strings, and he didn’t know where to go. His neck hurt, his body ached, his mind was in torment, and he didn’t know what to do. 

 

“Did you know, Jefferson, that twelve years in Wonderland is only four minutes in your world?” Two hands wrapped around his throat from behind. Fingers scraped across the scar. He felt tears fall down his cheeks and he didn’t bother to try to stop her. “Did you know that it’s impossible to die?” 

 

He did. The Queen of Hearts was very inventive, and when she wasn’t busy torturing her subjects, she enjoyed cutting off their heads and having them stare at their bodies until she remembered to stitch them back together. He had been ‘killed’ no less then five times in the past twelve years. Every time he felt as though he lost something, though he wasn’t sure what. 

 

“Do you remember who I am?” Blonde hair, blue eyes, she’d been so impetuous and brave. 

 

“Irene?” he asked her quietly. He laughed as he tumbled back against her bosom. “Can you get it to work?” She dug her nails into his throat. His scar burned. He could feel the bruises, permanently stained into his skin, deepen. 

 

“You abandoned me. You abandoned your daughter. What good are you?”  

 

“Irene?” She pushed him forwards and he fell into the hats. When he bothered to move again, almost three hours later, she was gone and nothing worked. He started to stitch and cut again, desperate to make it work this time. He only needed it for one jump. One jump, then never again. 

 

He just needed to get it to work. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and that was it. Every hat he built he stitched her name into the seams. He didn’t know who she was. He didn’t know anything about her, but he knew her name and he didn’t want to forget it. He was forgetting everything. He was tired of forgetting. 

 

The Queen of Hearts hadn’t liked his failure. They said it had been fifty years since he came here. That was sixteen point six, six, six, six, six, six, six, six (all those sixes went on and on and on and on forever) minutes. He didn’t know what that meant either, or what would happen if it was pushed out to an hour, but he wondered if Grace knew. The Queen cut off his head and left it in the courtyard. 

 

He didn’t like it when she did this. It hurt, and he didn’t like it when it hurt. He wanted to go home to the hats and - not that’s wrong, he wanted to go home to whoever was named Grace. He was going to be late. Very late. He was late for tea. He had a date, and he was going to be late, and he needed to go, but he was just a head and so he didn’t go anywhere at all. 

 

Sometimes a woman would sit with him and dig her fingers into his hair. “You abandoned me, and you abandoned her, and I  _hate_ you for it,” she told him. If his head still had a body, he thought his heart might break. Once, when he was very young, he saw a woman with a wall full of hearts that she’d stolen. He watched that woman steal more and break more as the whim came over her. 

 

It had made him uncomfortable now, and he wondered if this was what it felt like to have a broken heart. Maybe he was dead. Maybe his broken heart had killed him. He laughed at that thought. He never got it to work and now he was dead, dead, dead, dead - no not dead. He was just a head. “Jefferson? I’m going to save you, but I need you to remember. Do you remember?”

 

The Queen needed a hat for a ball and so she put his head back on his shoulders. She sent him to his dungeon and she told him to make her a hat. He stitched Grace into the seams and he made every hat he knew how to make. None of them worked, but all of them were pleasing to the Queen who promised not to cut off his head for at least another year. He dug his fingers into his throat and he stumbled back to his bench. 

 

Irene leaned over his shoulder. “Jefferson? Do you love me?” 

 

“Yes, Irene.” 

 

“Then, why haven’t we left yet?” 

 

“None of them work.” he told her. 

 

“Why didn’t you take me with you?” 

 

“Same amount of people that go through must come back,” he said. He looked up to see her face, but she was gone. She wasn’t there. 

 

Sometimes Jefferson wondered if he she was ever really there in the first place. They called him the Mad Hatter. Maybe he finally had gone mad. He felt tears slide down his cheeks, and he pressed his scarred fingers to his eyes. “I’ll get it to work, I’ll get it to work. Then we can go home. We can go home.” 

 

 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and she saved his life. The Queen of Hearts thought it would be entertaining to see the Mad Hatter work. She brought him fabric and equipment, and she set him up in her throne room. He worked endlessly, making hat after hat after hat. The audience laughed when he bled, and scoffed at his workmanship, but they all lined up to take a hat and tear it apart. 

 

“It doesn’t work,” they cried out whenever he handed one to them. His heart beat wildly in his chest with each failed creation. Irene knelt before him and stared at him with wide blue eyes. She never asked for a hat. She never interacted with the others. Sometimes the others would pass through her like she were a ghost or a figment, but she’d solidify as soon as they were gone. Jefferson tore into the fabric desperately, hoping that the next creation would be enough. 

 

The Queen requested a special hat made just for her, and he built it to her specifications. It was presented to her, Grace stitched into the side, a rabbit with a pocket watch on the other. Not quite to specifications. He couldn’t help it. He just wanted to get it to work. 

 

“Off with his head!” she shouted, and everyone laughed as the executioner came to do his duty once more. Out of the corner of Jefferson’s eye, he saw a bow being drawn and an arrow loosed. It was aimed at the Queen’s heart - hidden only by Grace’s name on the side of a hat. The arrow would stab through Grace’s fragile letters, and he couldn’t let that happen. 

 

He dove forwards, and took the arrow through his chest. He fell to his ground with a gasp, and Irene screamed, “NO!” That was funny because he was looking right at her and her mouth didn’t move. Instead, she smiled at him and disappeared as if she was never there. He could still hear her voice, screaming for him. His eyes shifted from Irene’s ghost to the hat with Grace’s name on it. 

 

“Did I get it to work?” he asked numbly. The Queen of Hearts was trembling on her throne, and no one answered him. 

 

The would be assassin was at his side, turning him over to look at him. Blonde hair, blue eyes, slightly burned skin. The killer was a woman, and she was touching his face. She was crying and calling his name, and he stared at her and had no idea who she was. 

 

“Did I get it to work?” he asked again.

 

“Jefferson? Jefferson, it’s me, it’s-”

 

“Bring me her  _heart!_ ” The Queen of Hearts commanded. The assassin was pulled away. 

 

“No,  _no!_ Jefferson, Jefferson! No! Jefferson!” The executioner didn’t cut off her head. He reached a hand into her chest and pulled her heart from her body. It was presented to the Queen, and he watched as she crushed it into dust in her palm.  The assassin fell to the ground.  _Like a goblin in daylight_ , Jefferson thought idly. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw a goblin in daylight. He didn’t know why it mattered. The heart dust floated away and everyone was silent. 

 

“You saved my life, Hatter.” The Queen stood before him. “So I will save yours.” She pulled the arrow from his chest and pressed a palm against his wound. “Now…get it to work.” The hat was shoved back into his body, and Grace’s name burned against his clothes. 

 

“Oh…” he whispered. “It didn’t work.” He clung to the hat and he wondered what he had to do that was different. He stumbled up to his feet and wandered back to his dungeon. He stepped over the remains of the assassin, and didn’t bother trying to work out why he started to weep when he saw her face laying slack against the floor. Irene was waiting for him in the dungeon. She smiled wickedly, and now, there was blood soaking down her chest. She looked like her heart had been ripped out, and when she told him she hated him - he didn’t argue. She and every right to. He’d let her die.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and she was someone else’s daughter. Jefferson woke up in a house. It was a lovely house, one with shiny floors and neat walls. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen before, and for the first time in nearly a possibly thousands of years (he’d lost track), he felt the noise in his head fade back and leave him with flawless clarity. He pressed a hand to the scar on his throat (now an actual scar and not a seam that seemed to have zipped his neck together), and he wandered around the home. A telescope was set up at one of the windows and he peered through it. He saw his daughter sitting at a table eating dinner with the Haversham family. They were all sitting together and they looked so relaxed and content, and Jefferson felt his heart break. 

 

He tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. He tried to open the windows, but they didn’t move. He tried to do anything, get outside, call for help - no one answered. He banged at the glass, he threw his body into the panes, but he couldn’t break through. He screamed until he couldn’t scream any more. 

 

“Grace? Grace!” 

 

Only here they called her Paige, and there was a man with Mr. Haversham’s face, who was named Mr. Delaney, and he called her ‘daughter.’ She called him ‘daddy’ and she hugged him goodbye before she went somewhere - school. He tried to break out of his house, but he couldn’t do it. He was trapped, living forever in the shadow of his daughter, always seeing her, but never allowed to go near her. 

 

And he thought Wonderland turned him mad. 

 

Jefferson tried to make more hats. He never ran out of fabric. It was always there. Just like his cupboards were always filled with food. Just like his wardrobe was always pristine. Every day was the same. Every day was the same, day in and day out. He woke up, he went to the window, he watched his daughter living someone else’s life, and then he made hats until his hands bled. Then he fell asleep, woke up, and started it all over again. 

 

A telescope at the window aimed at town told him the clock restarted every day at 8:14. He hated this world. He hated that clock tower, and he hated that now that he was saved from Wonderland’s madness, he knew exactly what happened over the endless years he’d been trapped as the Mad Hatter. 

 

Irene was dead. 

 

She’d tried to kill the Queen of Hearts and save his life, and instead - he’d gotten in the way and Irene paid the price for his madness. She’d fallen to his side and he’d done absolutely nothing while the Queen of Hearts had taken her heart and crushed it in her hand. She’d killed the woman Jefferson loved, the mother of Jefferson’s child, and he’d done nothing at all except stare at a hat with his child’s name on it and wonder if it would work. 

 

He didn’t exact revenge on the Queen. He just stood up when she’d healed him, walked passed Irene’s body, and faced her ghost in his lair. He’d become so used to seeing her phantom, that when the real woman had appeared before him, he hadn’t known it was her. He was a useless father, a terrible partner, and a poor excuse for a man. 

 

“I’m in the wrong world,” he decided quietly. “I’m in the wrong world, and I can’t get out.” He was in the wrong world, he couldn’t get out, his daughter was living as someone else’s child, and his beloved Irene was dead.  

 

Conflicting realities splashed through his consciousness, but he wasn’t going mad with the knowledge. He hadn’t suffered the breakdown that he had in Wonderland. There he’d lost his mind and had no way to focus himself. Here, he knew he was alone and trapped, and he knew there was nothing he could do about it. Here, there was weary acceptance. 

 

“I’ll just get it to work,” he decided. He continued making his hats, and watching his daughter who never aged. He watched her life move on, and he wished he could find a way to make it all stop once and for all. 

 

He lasted two months before he did anything about it. 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and it was the last thought he had before he lost consciousness. He’d tied the noose around his neck and stepped off the stool. He watched Grace through the window to her house, with her new family. She was laughing at something and smiling happily. She was living her life, and he wasn’t in it.

 

He’d woken up feeling worse than ever before, and he wondered if he was capable of dying in this world. He made a slipknot from his cloth and he tied it up high. He watched Grace out of the corner of his eye the whole time. She didn’t know him. She didn’t think about him him. She wouldn’t miss him when he was gone. She was perfectly capable of living a good life without him, and that was all he cared about. She’d be better off without him in her life.

 

He watched, legs kicking instinctively underneath him as he floundered, choking because his neck didn’t break with the snap. He watched as Grace answered to ‘Paige,’ and waved her new parents goodbye. She was going to school, just like she always did. She would come home, he would be dead, and nothing would change. They called her ‘Paige,’ but her name was Grace.

 

He woke up on the ground. Regina was sitting across from him looking mildly amused at his predicament. He coughed, and his throat burned. He coughed again, gasping for breath instinctively. His hand scrambled to his throat and he coughed and gagged until his brain was satisfied that his lungs were being filled.

 

“How far the mighty have fallen,” Regina commented. He shivered badly and wrapped his arms around his body. His clothes, so neat and pristine here, so finely made and rich in comparison to the past few lifetimes he’d gone through. “Suicide, Jefferson? You hate it here _that_ badly.”

 

“Irene is dead,” he told her. Her lips tightened slightly. “In Wonderland. I went mad. She found me, and she tried to save me, and she died. I didn’t know who she was.”

 

“Well,” Regina huffed. She glanced down at her nails.

 

“But I’m not mad anymore, am I?” He laughed, slightly hysteric and off key. She gave him a disbelieving look, and he didn’t care. “I’m not mad. My daughter. She’s my daughter, and she doesn’t know who I am. No one does. No one knows. You know, though, don’t you? That’s why you’re here. Gloating. You know.”

 

“It’s a curse,” Regina agreed. “It’s a curse, and I’m not letting you leave it that easily.”

 

“Curse…you’ve cursed me to remember. To see it all. _Why_? Why bother? What could I possibly have done to warrant that much attention from the likes of _you?_ ”

 

“I don’t care about you, Jefferson. But I simply can’t stand to see a happy ending.”

 

“You think I was _happy_ in Wonderland? Irene was dead and I was gone from my girl and you think I was _happy_? That’s what you pulled me away from, Regina. So what was the point? Why make me come here? Why make me see this?”

 

“It doesn’t matter, but know this, Jefferson. I will not let you die. Try all you want, but you’ll never succeed.” She stood up and wiped a fleck of dust from her suit. She walked towards the door and he watched as she opened it. His heart clenched as he saw the outside world for the first time, unhindered by glass. “Oh and Jefferson, I was right…poverty really didn’t suit you.” She smiled as she stepped out.

 

Jefferson threw himself out the door and tried to pull it open. He screamed and slammed his body against it, but it wouldn’t budge. He shouted desperately and pounded his hands as hard as he could. Nothing changed. He fought until he couldn’t fight any longer, and then he collapsed to the ground and cried until he couldn’t produce any tears. At 3:00 he heard his daughter ding the little bell on her bicycle as she returned to the home that wasn’t theirs.

 

He’d try again later. For right now, he was too exhausted to move.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and Rumplestiltskin knew it.  Years ago, before Wonderland and all the madness that came after, Jefferson had held his daughter to his chest and sobbed on the floor of the Queen’s court as he recoiled in shock from Irene’s loss. Regina had been furious at the interruption, and had nearly killed him on the spot. Rumplestiltskin had magicked him away and hid him safe from harm.

 

He didn’t take any gold from the man. Once he’d gotten the story out of him, the whole of it from start to finish, Rumplestiltskin sent him on his way and didn’t do a thing to stop it. He told him that if Jefferson was determined to give up the power he had, then it wasn’t worth his time to continue his association.

 

The man popped in from time to time, eager to see if Jefferson would ever be tempted back into his old ways. Jefferson had said no time and again, and Rumplestiltskin watched Grace grow older. Once, during a particularly painful winter, Jefferson had almost bent to the Dark One’s whim.

 

“You had a child, once,” Jefferson had said to him, curled up with Grace by the fire. She was sleeping in his arms and Rumplestiltskin was crouched in the corner with a manic grin across his face. “Was there anything you would not do for your child?”

 

Rumplestiltskin didn’t say anything that night, and Jefferson fell asleep with the knowledge that his daughter might well be dead by the end of the week if things didn’t turn for the better. When he woke up, there was gold on the table, clothes in the drawers, and food in their cupboards. A note rested beside the fire. It read, ‘ _For the reminder.’_

In this cursed world, Jefferson could see Rumplestiltskin in a shop in town. He could sit in the tallest tower of his home, look out one of his endless amounts of telescopes, and see the man wander from place to place. He was tall, bold, and he walked with a cane. Until the day after Jefferson’s suicide attempt, he never looked up towards the house Jefferson was trapped in.

 

After that, he looked up to the house each morning. It was a small gesture, but Jefferson could see the twist of his smile. He could see the look in his eyes. If there was one other person in this world who knew what had befallen them, it was Rumplstiltskin. Jefferson wasn’t sure why it mattered to him, he was never friends with the man, but it meant that he somehow knew of his existence. It wasn’t just the Queen. There was someone else who knew, and each morning – he shared that knowledge with Jefferson.

 

It didn’t stop Jefferson from trying to kill himself again. In fact, each day he tried to kill himself one more time. Each day he woke up, safe from harm, and his hand halted. The scars never healed. He had bandages wrapped around his wrists from where he tried to slice them open. His throat was bruised from all the times he’d tried to hang himself. He tried to swallow glass once, but all that earned him was an endless supply of unbreakable cups and all the sharp items removed from his home.

 

After three months, the Queen showed herself again, and Rumplestiltskin was with her. She was clearly tense and unhappy. Rumplestiltskin was patient. He wasn’t smiling his normal manic grin. If anything, he looked like he was waiting for something. Jefferson stared up at them from his bed. His arms were bound to his sides. His face felt puffy and blotched out. He was exhausted and he was so tired. He didn’t want them in his house, and he certainly didn’t want them anywhere near him. Regina seemed ready to speak, but she was halted with a hand on her arm.

 

“Regina, if I may?” Rumplestiltskin stepped forwards and the Queen rolled her eyes. She turned on her heel and stormed from his bedroom, leaving them alone. Jefferson watched as his former employer approached him. He sat beside Jefferson on the bed and touched the scar at Jefferson’s throat. “I know what’s been done to you.” His voice was calm and soothing. “I know what the Queen has done to you. I see Grace in town, from time to tome, she looks so like her mother.” Jefferson’s heart broke in his chest. “I know you cannot leave here, but I can. I can look out for her, keep her safe from harm, tell you about her life.” It hurt too much to think about that. He’d hear about Grace, but never be able to hold her in his arms. He’d never be able to show her his love. He’d never make it home to her. “We cannot let you die. You’re the only one who can use the hat to break free. You’re the only one who can travel between worlds.”

 

“I don’t have a hat, I can’t get it to work.” The tears started to fall freely now. They wouldn’t stop, and he arched his head backwards as he sobbed openly. Rumplestiltskin ran a hand through his hair.

 

“I would never have left you in Wonderland,” he spat in disgust. Jefferson didn’t understand the comment, and he continued easily. “You would have given me anything just to get back to your daughter, and that kind of loyalty I would have made good use of.” Jefferson twisted away from the hand at his hair, and Rumplestiltskin leaned closer. He lowered his lips to Jefferson’s ear, and spoke quietly. “I cannot break this curse. I cannot do a thing to help you, but for all of us to survive, we need you alive. We have a savior, but she is a child and not capable of saving any of us. She needs time to grow.”

 

“I just want my daughter,” Jefferson croaked.

 

“I know. Make a deal with me, boy. Do as I ask, do not kill yourself, and I will do what I can to ease this burden.”  Jefferson squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to breathe. He shivered violently and then, finally, let his body fall still. He looked up at Rumplestiltskin and nodded his head. He made his deal with the devil, and it was sealed with a kiss. The man leaned down and pressed his lips to his brow, and smiled. “You helped me remember something very important once, and I’ll do the same for you. You will have your happy ending, Jefferson. But you need to wait for it.” Jefferson just hoped he would manage to hold on.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and she was doing very well in school. Rumplestiltskin, or Mr. Gold as he was known now, could somehow manage to get the door to Jefferson’s home. Where Jefferson was frozen inside, he could pass in and out without trouble. He visited daily and sat at the table with him as he fumbled to serve tea. While they sat together, he told Jefferson about Grace. She was brilliant, and Jefferson tried to react properly.

 

He’d spent far too many years in madness and solitude, that even with the curse of sanity lying heavy on his mind – he could not seem to find his voice. Mr. Gold never complained. He casually filled the gap in conversation, and he didn’t react whenever Jefferson clearly made some kind of social faux pas. He had, on more than one occasion, shifted between heightened emotional states in such rapid succession that his eyes had still been weeping while his lips were spread wide in a laugh.

 

Mr. Gold told him about Grace, and Jefferson clung to each detail. He applied the stories to what he’d already been able to observe, and he filled his mind with his daughter’s good fortune and happy tales. On days when he was feeling far too much of everything, Mr. Gold mixed a mild sedative into his tea and he’d wake up the next day feeling numb and neutral.

 

After the first year, Mr. Gold gave him a copy of Grace’s report card. He held it out for Jefferson to read, and Jefferson stared at the letters and flushed. “I don’t know how,” he murmured. He knew it was shameful, and was duly embarrassed by it.

 

“All these years in my service and you never learned?” the man asked him curiously. “And the curse didn’t give you any new knowledge. Hmm…” he stood up and moved to sit next to him. Carefully dragging his finger across the page he sounded out each letter and word for Jefferson to read. When he was finished, he explained what each letter grade meant and how it applied to Grace’s life.

 

The next day, Mr. Gold brought a collection of books for Jefferson to read. They started slow, and after another six months, he found he could read most books on his own. It was a surprisingly efficient way to pass the time. In the morning, Mr. Gold would come by, see how he was holding up, and tell him about Grace. If he’d finished a book, Mr. Gold would give him a new one. If he hadn’t, they’d go over any words Jefferson didn’t understand. After Jefferson was left alone, he’d retreat to his room and begin reading story after story.

 

He learned about this world’s history, its mannerisms, and its lifestyles. He studied politics, fashion, and technology. He ran his fingers across pages filled with black and white words, painted pictures, and etched sketches. He studied art, and he studied music, and he remembered _everything_.

 

“Does Grace like to read?” Jefferson asked Mr. Gold once.

 

“She does, and she’s quite good at writing as well.” He brought a pencil and notebook for Jefferson to use the next day. He showed him how to write, and how to spell. Two years passed, and nothing changed outside in Storybrooke, their cursed little town, but Jefferson now knew how to read and write and that was something special indeed.

 

He wrote letters to Grace that he knew she’d never read. He stored them side-by-side in a notebook, and sometimes he practiced reading them out loud to the telescope that was aimed at her new family’s home. He did the same for all of the books he owned. If he found something that he thought she’d like, he read it to her and pretended she could hear him. 

 

Mr. Gold eventually taught him numbers too. Jefferson had always done math in his head, and he found that writing the numbers down was more complicated than mental calculations. He shied away from it until Mr. Gold gave him progressively more difficult problems. He then grudgingly admitted that the paper could be useful for something.

 

“You’re rather intelligent, you know,” Mr. Gold told him as he finished challenge after challenge.

 

“I’m not,” Jefferson refuted. He could never meet the man’s eyes, could barely find the words to express how grateful he was for the company. Mr. Gold didn’t let him get away with that, he told him Grace took after him completely: top of her class, and Jefferson’s forced himself to say it. “Thank you,” he managed tightly. Mr. Gold’s hand touched his shoulder. For now, he wasn’t alone, and it was just enough to get him through.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and she wasn’t growing older. Jefferson made it to his fifth year before he tried to kill himself again. Grace was still ten years old. She wasn’t any older. Each day she repeated time and again, and each day she lived her life on repeat. Nothing changed about her or her routine. She knew nothing at all about the way things should be. Jefferson was so tired of seeing her each day and finding no change.

 

When he woke up from his latest attempt, Regina was there. She looked at him with an expression that clearly depicted just how disappointed she was in him. “Now Jefferson, I thought we’d moved passed this.” He rolled away from her, and pressed his fingers to his throat once more. He could feel the new bruises around his scar.

 

“Please go,” Mr. Gold said. Jefferson hadn’t seen him, but he could hear his voice. Regina, surprisingly, did as she was requested. Mr. Gold sat beside Jefferson and touched the spine of his latest book. “What was it?” he asked knowingly.

 

“The children never wanted to grow up…and then they realized they did,” he replied. Mr. Gold hummed softly at that. He took the book away and placed it in his bag. “She’s never going to grow up, is she?”

 

“She will one day,” Mr. Gold told him. “I promise you, one day she will be okay. One day, when the savior comes for us.” Mr. Gold placed his hand on Jefferson’s arm. “We’ll be saved, but if you kill yourself then there’s a very good chance you’ve not only doomed us all, but you’ve ensured that your daughter never achieves the happiness she deserves. You’ll hurt _her_ , Jefferson, and I know that’s not what you want.” It was the last thing that he wanted. He clenched his hands tight and tried to force back the wave of nausea that was overcoming him. It didn’t help.

 

He had been waiting hundreds of years to see his daughter turn eleven, and she was still just as young as she always had been. She had never grown up. As more time passed, he wondered if she ever would. He was so tired of waiting, and his body and soul was falling apart as he watched for a change that would never occur.

 

“What do you need me for?” he asked Mr. Gold softly. “I can’t get it to work. A hat without magic is just a hat, and there’s no magic in Storybrooke. And even if there was, the same amount of people who go through must come back. Those are the hat’s rules, not mine.” He said that long ago to someone else, and it had seared a brand through his heart because of it. He repeated them once a day to make sure he never forgot them, and he told them to Mr. Gold almost once a week as well. He never seemed to notice.

 

“You will make a new hat, with new rules,” he said firmly. “You will make it work. Magic will come to you, and you will help us all. But I need you to listen to me. I need you to do as I ask. We have to wait just a little longer.”

 

“How much longer?” Jefferson asked. “I’m tired, Mr. Gold. I’m so tired. I just need to get it to work…” his eyes trailed off to the side, and he saw his hats lining the walls. They were all valiant attempts that had failed. He reached out one hand, but they were too far away to touch. He let his arm drop, and twisted his head so he could see all of them side by side. He’d tried everything he could think of over the years. The scars were still visible on his body as proof of his plight. He was so tired of failure.

 

“It could be some time yet,” Mr. Gold admitted. “But it will be worth it. I promise you, it will be worth it.”

 

“You promise me?” Jefferson laughed.

 

“Yes, that is something, isn’t it?” Mr. Gold pat his knee. “Think on that, why don’t you?”

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name is Grace, and she was worth living for. Jefferson watched her every day, he listened to Mr. Gold talk about her every day, and he thought about her every day. For thirteen years, he didn’t try to kill himself. He accepted this new world, with all of its conflicting realities, and held on as tight as he could to the possibility that one day he’d be with her again. He read books, he learned to draw, he drew maps, he wrote letters, and he waited.

 

And then a yellow bug rolled into town, and everything changed.

 

Jefferson could feel the tremble of power under his skin and he shivered as the wind began to change. He peered out his telescope and watched as the newcomer started to change everything. People were waking up, new life had sparked in the men, women, and children of Storybrooke, and Jefferson could see the fear in Regina’s eyes as she looked at this woman. Emma Swan, Storybrooke’s new sheriff, was their savior.

 

Jefferson could feel it in his bones. He could feel his body trembling with excitement. Things were changing, and he knew that the end was finally drawing near. He pressed a hand to the door to his home. It had always been closed to him. For all these years, it had never opened under his touch. Even if Mr. Gold held it open, he could never cross the threshold. He’d been trapped in this house, and nothing had changed, but now – he _knew_ it would be different.

 

He pressed a hand to the doorknob and he twisted it. The door opened. He pulled it wide, and then took a deep breath. One foot reached out hesitantly, and crossed the boundary. After that, it was everything he could do to keep himself upright. He ran as hard and as fast as he could into town. He ran through the woods, cutting through brush and stumbling over felled trees.

 

He found Grace’s home and he skidded to a stop right outside her house. He sucked in huge gasping breaths and looked through the window. Grace was on the sofa reading a book. She was turning the pages and smiling at whatever she was looking at. Mr. Haversham, or whoever he was in this place, handed her a glass of milk and she smiled. “Thank you, daddy!” she said happily. Jefferson could hear her voice for the first time since he’d abandoned her, and he stumbled back against a tree. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.

 

The world narrowed its focus and he twisted so he was no longer watching her and the man who she called ‘father.’ He pressed his hands to his eyes and he gasped in a desperate attempt to calm himself. He couldn’t breathe. He needed to go. He couldn’t be here. He’d tear her apart. She had a life, and she was happy, and if he broke in and told her the truth – all she’d be faced with was his hollow words and a reality that was more trouble than it was worth.

 

Mr. Gold found him on the side of the road, and he gave him a ride back to his house. This time, Jefferson didn’t bother trying to ignore the fact he was about to be sedated. He held out his hands, asked to take the medication directly, and swallowed it dry. Mr. Gold stayed with him until he passed out, and Jefferson fell asleep with the truth tearing him apart.

 

Grace could never know the truth. It wasn’t fair to her, and he refused to hurt her again. He’d failed once as her father, and he wouldn’t fail her now. She was happy, and that was all that mattered.

 

When he woke up again, Mr. Gold told him the plan. There were pieces that needed to be moved, decisions that needed to be made. He would handle the majority of the work; Jefferson would do the rest. He explained how everything would fall into place, and he went on to say one final bit of information:

 

“Now that you can leave, keep in mind, if you try to leave the boundaries of this town something bad happens to keep you inside. There is only one person in this town you care about, so do try to remember that if you ever try to leave.” Jefferson could have laughed. Leave Storybrooke? His daughter was here. He wouldn’t leave her side even if he had to spend the rest of her life in shadows. He would always be there to protect her, even if he could never bring himself to tell her the truth.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name is Grace, and he was going to save her. Mary Margaret tried to leave Storybrooke, and Mr. Gold told him to stop her. So Jefferson did just that. He caught her in the woods and tied her up. Mr. Gold told him to talk to Emma, and so he did that too. He brought Emma to his home, and he told her about the curse. He told her everything, and he tried to get her to help him.

 

“Get it to work,” he requested. He put her in front of his hat making station and he watched her stitch fabric together. Mr. Gold had given him a gun to make his job easier, and Jefferson laughed as he looked at it. He hadn’t been allowed near something so obviously fatal in years. Emma and Mary Margaret needn’t have looked so worried. Mr. Gold gave him a gun, but no bullets. It was entirely for show.

 

Jefferson said everything he needed to say, he put it all in small words and he tried to get Emma to understand. He showed her his world, and he shook his head at all her explanations. He wasn’t mad, he wasn’t crazy, he hadn’t been since arriving in Storybrooke. He was sane, and that sanity was testing the limits of his capacity to function.

 

He wasn’t cruel, though. He knew that he was scaring them, but once they got his hat to work – he could go home and they would never see him again. That would be penance enough. He just wanted his hat to work, and he would do everything he could in order to make sure that happened.

 

But it seemed like Emma wasn’t ready for that revelation. She fought back and fought back _hard_. He scrambled in an attempt to overpower her, but it didn’t matter. She and Mary Margaret eventually gained the upperhand, and the next thing he knew: he was falling.

 

The familiar feeling of warmth wrapped around his body and held him tight. He could feel portals twisting and opening around his mind and he blinked rapidly as he landed on his back in the Hall of Many Doors. Jefferson sat up and stared at the inside of his hat, and wished more than anything he could have brought Emma here to see.

 

She got it to work. She got it to work, and it didn’t matter, because he knew that Grace was still in Storybrooke. There was only enough magic for one jump, and Jefferson opened the door back to Storybrooke. He stepped inside his house and held his useless hat in his hands. She’d made it work, it saved his life, and he’d gone back for Grace.

 

He was going to save her one day, and now he had proof that it could happen. Emma could break the curse, she could get his hat to work, and soon: they could go home. When Mr. Gold came to see him, he relayed all the information he could. The man was very pleased indeed.

 

“It’ll be soon, very soon. Regina will ask you for help, she’ll make you come to her, do what she says. She’ll barter with your daughter; listen to her. In just a few short weeks this will be over. The curse will be broken. You’ll be free.”

 

It was music to his ears, and he couldn’t wait to start again.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and her father would stop at nothing to find a way to right the wrongs of the past. Jefferson helped Regina with her plots. He did everything she asked for, and Regina lied through her teeth. She said she’d give him Grace, she said she’d let them have the life that they deserved. She lied, and he was so sick of lies.

 

Jefferson couldn’t kill Regina. She rubbed his nose in that fact so often that his heart felt like it was breaking in his chest. He was exhausted. He was so _done_ with her lies and her schemes. He couldn’t kill her himself, he had lost all sense of doing violence towards others when he was a child, but he could certainly cause her harm.

 

He had watched Storybrooke for years, and now that he could walk through it, he could find secrets easily. He found secrets that lay on secrets. He found things Regina wanted to keep buried, and he unearthed them. There had only ever been one person who had helped him through this hell that was this curse, and that was Mr. Gold. Conveniently, he was the only person who had the power and the desire to destroy Regina if she became too much of a problem.

 

Jefferson relished in setting Belle free. Belle, Rumplestiltskin’s love and only true companion, had been kept locked away from him by Regina. She was treated the way Jefferson _should_ have been treated, like she was a threat to herself and others. She was wrapped up in a small little room and given no space to breathe properly. Jefferson set her free, and prepared himself for the fall out. He was tired of waiting. He wanted his daughter back. He wanted progress.

 

Then, like a miracle, the curse was broken.

 

Jefferson stood at the window of his house when everything changed. He was watching the town through a telescope when a strange light splashed through the land. He could feel it when the world righted itself and clarity seeped through. The people all stood frozen with shock. Then they began to call each other by their real names. They rushed to embrace one another.

 

He watched as Snow White and her Prince Charming reunited at last, and all he could think of was Grace. He packed up his nicest tea set and a beautiful toy rabbit that he’d made during one of his more melancholy days. He put them both in his car and he drove down the road. He didn’t know what would happen when he saw her, but everyone knew the truth now. The curse was broken. It couldn’t be changed. So his daughter was out there, and she needed him.

 

He was halfway to her house when he saw a woman in the road. Irene. Jefferson swerved hard to the left. She was smiling at him as the car hit _something_ and he was rolling. Everything happened too fast. Glass shattered, steel compressed, his head smacked hard against something metal. There was chaos and pain, and all he knew was that Irene was there and that meant the madness was back. A huge explosion sounded in the back of his mind, and it was accompanied by debris and brick falling down upon his vehicle. Chaos erupted and he couldn’t tell what was fantasy and what was reality.  

 

He threw a hand over his eyes and he prayed that Grace was safe. He just wanted to keep her safe, but nothing ever worked out the way he wanted it too. He lost consciousness just as his car was thrown one final time into a building. Everything crumpled around him on all sides. Irene watched the whole while, smiling and reminding him that she _hated_ him for abandoning her. The thought hurt worse than he could have possibly imagined, and he passed out with the hope that Grace never saw him again so long as he kept her safe from his own mind.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and she was looking for him. Jefferson could hear the world talking to each other. Everyone was using a mix of their Storybrooke names and their real names. Once, he even heard his daughter’s voice. “My name is Grace…I’m looking for my papa, please, has anyone seen my papa?” His head was ringing from the crash, and he tried to get out of his car, but no one heard him. He was trapped, and his daughter was looking for him.

 

He had a string around his finger that she could use to find him anywhere. It wasn’t there now. She never found him. Fate interceded again, and he let himself drift. No one was there to keep him alive, no one even seemed to care at this point. The Queen was busy elsewhere, and Mr. Gold – Rumplestiltskin – was likely plotting her death.

 

He faded in and out, but eventually awoke to Prince Charming asking for his help. He had nothing to say to the man. He couldn’t get the hat to work. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t manage to help himself, let alone his daughter, so how exactly was he meant to help the _Prince?_ He ran, and he ran hard. His body screamed in agony, and he didn’t care. He just wanted to find some measure of peace.

 

He hid in his house, and he hid around town. He followed his daughter sometimes, and he found the wanted poster she put up. “Have you seen my papa?” it asked. She’d drawn his face onto the page, and he stared at it. Longing poured through his soul. He wanted to go to her. 

 

“I abandoned her!” he eventually yelled to the only child who dared to approach him. “And she’ll hate me for it!” Irene did. Irene reminded him of it all the time. She haunted him so often that he knew there was no saving him. And then he was reminded that at least Grace would _know_ , and that was better than the hollow feeling of not knowing.

 

And so he tried. He _tried_. He summoned all the courage he had, and he tempted fate by approaching his daughter, knowing that he could hurt her like this, but knowing he _was_ hurting her now. He waited for her at the bus, and he watched as she stepped off. She was smiling, happy, content. He was going to ruin everything, and he was going to hear his daughter tell him just how much she hated him. But then, at least he would _know_ , and the hollow feeling of not knowing would be replaced by solid fact. It worked both ways, and he was terrified.

 

“Grace?” he called out. She froze. She turned on her heel. She looked at him and didn’t hesitate. She ran to his arms, and he fell to his knees in supplication. Her arms wrapped around him and he felt his heart seize in his chest.

 

“I knew you’d find me,” she told him. He couldn’t breathe. It was too perfect, too good. He looked up at the sky, blinking back tears as he tried to force himself to accept the first bit of good fortune that had fallen upon him.  He lifted her up in his arms and he walked with her. She held him tightly and didn’t let him go. He couldn’t release her either. She was his, and he was hers, and they were together. _Finally_.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and she missed him almost as much as he missed her. They couldn’t let each other go. He kept his arms around her for nearly a full day. He carried her everywhere. He lifted her up and held her close and she spoke endlessly about everything she could think of. He couldn’t let her go. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. They were together. They were finally together. And if he even hinted at releasing her, her arms would tighten around his neck and he’d regain his hold. Not now. Not yet.

 

Jefferson carried her all the way to his home. He walked inside and he settled on a couch. She looked at everything around her, and she asked him if he’d been here all along. He told her he was. “I used to wonder about this house,” she admitted quietly. “I’d draw it in school all the time. No one knew who lived up here, and every time I went to see – I kept getting caught by someone and turned away.”

 

In all his years of watching her, he’d never known that. It broke his heart. She hadn’t been perfectly content these past twenty-eight years. She’d been missing someone she couldn’t remember, and she didn’t understand why. “The Haversham’s were nice and all,” she continued, “but they didn’t want a kid, and I didn’t want _them._ They were never mean, they were lovely, but…it was just a little wrong. What about you, Papa, who were you?”

 

“I was always me,” he told her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “But the doors were locked, and the windows wouldn’t open. I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t get to you.” Tears filled Grace’s eyes and she hugged him close.

 

“We won’t be apart again, we’ll be together now, right Papa?”

 

“Right, my dear Grace.” He looked over her shoulder and saw Irene. Blood was pooling on the center of her dress and it dripped to the floor. She smiled at him, and told him she hated him. He flinched and hid his head in his daughter’s hair. “Together.”

 

Irene laughed at that, and he felt his heart freeze in his chest. He needed help. More importantly: Grace needed help. He couldn’t keep her safe if he was falling into madness. He needed help, _now_.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and she knew her father was crazy. Jefferson saw Irene everywhere. He couldn’t get away from her. She started talking to him, louder and louder each time he tried to ignore her. He pressed his hands to his ears and he tried to make her stop. Grace watched him, terrified, as he begged her ghost to leave.

 

“Grace, Grace, I need-I need you to get Mr. Gold. Can you do that? Please? Get Mr. Gold, Grace. Please.” She did as he asked. She ran into town, almost three miles, and she all but dragged Mr. Gold the whole way back. She was shivering and cold by the time they returned. Belle was with her, and she took Grace to the kitchen to fetch her some tea while Mr. Gold knelt at Jefferson’s side.

 

“You’re the one that set my Belle free, aren’t you?” he asked over Jefferson’s endless repetition of ‘ _go away, go away, please Irene just go away.’_ Jefferson managed a haphazard reply, and Mr. Gold caught his wrists and held them tight. He pushed them to Jefferson’s lap and placed a hand on either side of the hatter’s head. “Be at peace,” Rumplestiltskin commanded.

 

The noise stopped. Irene disappeared. The pain and the agony of endless years of madness in Wonderland fell away to a dull aching memory that lost all sting or pain. Wonderland was a vague memory of torment, but he couldn’t recall the blade slicing through his throat time after time, the sight of Irene’s beautiful body folded up on the ground, nor the hysteria that the words _get it to work_ had wrought on his soul.

 

“You’re going to be fine, Jefferson. I promised you everything would be okay, and it is. Your daughter is with you, and you are made whole once more.” Rumplestiltskin stepped out of the way, and Jefferson blinked slowly across the room. Grace was watching him with open concern, and he held open his arms. She ran to him, and _finally_ he felt at peace.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and she was his family. With the memories at bay, Jefferson could breathe. He woke up in the morning and he made Grace breakfast. He walked her to the bus stop and watched her go. He met with the Havershams and they treated him like an old friend. They spoke about how much they cared for Grace, and how happy they were to see her finally happy. He got a job working for Mr. Gold, quietly staying behind the scenes and researching anything he needed. He lived a life, he made money, and he cared for his daughter. They were all they had, and he was at peace with that.

 

He waited for Grace at the bus stop when she came home, and he cooked her dinner as she told him about her day. _She_ told him about her day. No one else had to, _she_ could do it. He clung to every word and he gave her everything he had. He would do anything for her, and she knew it with all her heart.

 

At night, he tucked her in and read her a story about a boy who never grew up. “I’m glad that Wendy and her brothers went home,” she told him before she closed her eyes. “It’s not fair that their parents were worrying about them. Now they can be together again, and that’s best.” Jefferson nodded his head and kissed her goodnight. They were together again, and that was best. His family was whole, and he could hardly believe it was true.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and he watched her turn eleven. She was taller and taller every day. He bought her new clothes and new shoes almost constantly. She modeled them for him and laughed as she spun around the house. For her birthday, though, she asked for only one thing: a tea party with him and all their friends.

 

He felt like he invited the town. It didn’t matter. He had tea and chairs for them all. They sat together and celebrated her eleventh birthday and she looked like the princess he always thought she was. They cheered and raised a glass in her honor and he gave her a new rabbit with a silver pocket-watch. She was growing older again, and it was _right._

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Her name was Grace, and he loved her. He made so many mistakes in his lifetime, but they were healing. They were together, and he had given everything for her. She looked up to him always, and he looked up to her. She was perfect in his eyes. And even if he had to live through the horror of Wonderland again, he would do so for her. She was his Grace, his daughter, and his life. He loved her, and nothing would keep him from her side. 

**Author's Note:**

> Have a prompt? Just want to say hi? Find me on tumblr: http://falcon-fox-and-coyote.tumblr.com/


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